


Poetic

by queenklaine



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenklaine/pseuds/queenklaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet." -Plato</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetic

"At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.” —Plato. 

Out of all the reading he did in college, there was never a more painfully true line of words Kurt had ever read.

He realized that it was true, about love and poetry, though it was rarely verbal. Blaine would just be, and that’s all it took, really. It happened all the time, when his mind would go blank and his mouth would escape words, and the pure love he felt just hit him like a blow to the chest and he was left breathless, staring, astounded. The feeling was beautiful, more so than any poem he’d ever read. 

Kurt remembers the first time it happened. There was a whisper of the poetry the first time he’d gotten lost at an all boys school and a charming, curly haired brunette helped him find his way. But he didn’t realize what it was, back then. The first time he was sure he heard it was when he sang a Christmas duet with that same curly-haired brunette. Everytime Blaine came close to Kurt, Kurt found himself breathing harder and his mind would conjour up wonderful fantasies of happiness and stability and it gave him the most beautiful sensation—yes, this was the poetry.  
  
It happened in the mornings, when Kurt shifted in bed to look at Blaine’s face partially obscured by the blankets he insisted on using, even in the summer. And Kurt would just watch Blaine breathe slow and deep, long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, hair mussed from however he’d moved in his sleep. He’d open his eyes and Kurt would watch as they slowly adjusted to the light, and then they’d find Kurt’s and then it was easier to breathe.   
  
And it happened in the middle of sex, when they would lock eyes mid-thrust and the feeling of everything made it even more intense and the smallest of touches felt like a spark of electricity. Kurt could feel it in his chest, swelling up and exploding into a million pieces in the best way possible.  
  
The poetry was woven intricately into the two, whispering here and there and ringing soundlessly in their ears. Kurt’s mind would create feelings that surpassed words, and he could think of no other way to describe the delicate beauty of the feeling than as the idea of poetry.   
  
The thing about love is that it is universal. Love doesn’t abide by language or culture or gender. Anyone can feel it towards anything and when this feeling is achieved, there is nothing quite like it. It’s nothing short of euphoric. Trembling fingertips. Racing hearts. Smiles that won’t go away, fluttery stomachs, energy.

It’s nothing short of poetic.


End file.
